


Dysmorphic Dolour

by ViolenceInThePoetry (SolitaryViolence)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Eating Disorders, Gen, Mental Anguish, Oh My God, Poetry, Purple Prose, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolitaryViolence/pseuds/ViolenceInThePoetry
Summary: When the mirror harbours an illusionWho knows what may betide?
Kudos: 1





	Dysmorphic Dolour

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this post-mental break. potentially triggering, so proceed with caution.
> 
> and for the love of god, take care of your damn body. you only get one life. please don't waste it knelt in front of a toilet or on weighing out your every morsel of food. it's not worth it.

Verisimilitude and delusion  
An ever-blurring line  
Blind indulgence and foregone conclusions  
Harrow this heart of mine  
Between edacity and effusion  
Lies my only lifeline  
When the mirror harbours an illusion  
Who knows what may betide?

Shall I disintegrate?  
Shall I tear this wretched flesh from my pelt?  
Or shall I simply wait?  
How long until I may tighten this belt?  
Can't it simply ablate?  
Of this existence, how much is unfelt?  
To what does this equate?  
Why must I base my worth on being svelte?

I’m ensnarled in a web of deception  
A labyrinth of lies  
From the voice’s seraphic surreption  
We fashioned this emprise  
I am but a vessel for subreption  
It cares not for my cries!  
And yet, still, I allow this abreption  
My spirit, it’s capsized

Resolve and reclusion  
Oh, how these words perfectly intertwine  
Doom and disillusion  
To sovereignty, my soul, I shall resign  
Ire and interclusion  
A vicious circle I rashly enshrine  
Faineance and fusion  
Our entities, they artfully align

What defines me, if not my body weight?  
For how long have I knelt?  
Have we again reached a stubborn stalemate?  
Have these cards been misdealt?  
Will I forever fight what’s on my plate?  
How long before I swelt?  
Will this dauntless disease ever abate?  
Or are we bound to welt?

Incarnate perfection  
Is far-off, yet feasible, we surmise  
Until then, abjection  
Is the only thing I’ll epitomise  
I’ll don affectations  
The role it’s composed, I’ll characterise  
I consent to vection  
Until the very day I’m amortised


End file.
